Educating Kayla

She sits down on the edge of the bed, next to her pillow, hands folded in her lap. I glance over and she nods. Maybe just a flash of unusual pride in her eyes.

I give her my best encouraging smile. "All this time, I had no idea They're fantastic. You've got some serious talent there."

"Thanks," she says, quietly. Shifts awkwardly, readjusts the sparkly top's strap on her shoulder. There's a black bra-strap there as well. Not that I'm looking.

"You must have spent hours on these." I grin. "If you'd spent all that time working on my subject, you could have got an A."

"Yeah, but drawing's actually fun," she deadpans. Maybe she's relaxing a bit.

I exaggerate a wince. "Ouch."

She giggles, then there's a slightly awkward pause. She's always lacked confidence, but we've known each other for two years now. It was hard work at first, getting her to say more than a couple of words at a time, but we'd got to where, I don't know, it wasn't exactly banter, but it felt natural between us. Now, it's like there's a tension here.

I glance deliberately about the room. "So, have you been tidying up?"

"No," she says, in a way that confirms she definitely has. Another smile. She might be shy, but she smiles a lot, this girl.

"Liar," I say, turning back to the computer. "Anyway, good job you did, as this thing's going to take up almost all your desk. Do you want me to set it up, or will you do it later?"

"I'm not sure I know where all the cables go. Can you do it, please?"

I nod, hopefully not too enthusiastically. I've just bought a few more minutes in her company, and I'm pathetically grateful. I start connecting the kit together whilst she sits and watches. In my peripheral vision, she's fidgeting. Crossing her legs. Uncrossing them. Crossing them again. Tugging her skirt down a bit. Pushing hair behind her ears again. I guess I can't blame her. Me being here in her room has got to be a bit weird.

"So, you going out somewhere nice later, then?" I say, trying to break the silence that's got awkward again.

"Going out?" she laughs. "I thought you knew me, Mr Wilde. I don't do going out."

"What, so you always dress like that at home?"

She looks down, like I've caught her out. Fiddles with the hem of her skirt. "Sometimes."

Shit. I'm staring again. I tear my eyes away from her legs, back to the old VGA cable I'm trying to screw into the monitor.

"Cool," I say, because I'm old enough to say that without irony. Plus, my head's now filled with images of gorgeous, creamy thighs, and my concentration's going. Fucking hell. "I mean, ah, you've got more, um, style than... well, than most of your year group had." I'm stumbling my words like a schoolboy. I risk another glance across, wish I hadn't. Gorgeous.

"Really?"

In my head, powered by my overactive imagination, her question sounds like she might actually care what I think.

"Yeah, really. It's, ah, a good look." I'm already looking over again, my eyes drawn to her chest this time. Fucking hell. The bra must surely be one of those push-up ones. Serious cleavage happening there. I look away quick, try not to cough. "It... suits you."

What the fuck am I saying? I remember the staff code of conduct. Never comment on a student's dress, unless it's to correct their uniform. Fuck. I've just blitzed straight past that one. It's like some inner perv has awoken, stirred into life by peculiar circumstance. I've seen way more at school over the years, all those accidental upskirts, inadvertent shirt-peeks, wind-lifts, you name it, and every time I've just looked away, carried on with my job. But we're not in school, now. This feels different.

Different, and pathetic. I need to sort myself out. Now I'm holding my breath, hoping she won't pick up on my inappropriate interest.

She just does her shy look again and says, "Thanks."

I breathe out. Lucky, this time. I'm sweating, and it's definitely not from the heat. There's a pleasant breeze shimmering the curtains, but I'm still having to wipe my brow. I finish connecting up the PC. "Right, I think that's got it all together. Where's the power?"

"There's two sockets under the desk. One of them's busted, though. You might have to poke around a bit before you stick it in."

"Said the actress to the vicar." The stupid joke's out of my mouth before I can help it. I've been cursed with a puerile sense of humour since birth but, seriously, now? Not the time. Just not the time.

To my surprise, she giggles.

"Sorry," I say. Pretty sure I've gone red. "Inappropriate. Apologies."

She looks down, twiddling with her skirt again. "You've always made me laugh."

"Really?" I concentrate hard on feeding the cables down past the soft toys arrayed along the back of the desk. I slip the wires between a plushie dog and a small teddy bear, holding their plastic-eyed gaze so I can make sure I'm not staring at her chest again.

"Yeah. I'll always remember your lessons. They were fun."

"Well, I'll always remember you, too." My unthinking reply is out before I can stop myself. Fuck. I try to cover my cringe by dropping to my knees and crawling under the desk to the electric sockets, not daring to look her way. My face is glowing.

That gets me another "Really?" Word of the day, it seems, for both of us. But this time, her voice sounds, I don't know, even more hopeful? No. Just my stupid imagination, again.

Breathe in. Breathe out. "Yes, really. Of course I'll remember you. You've been one of my... best students."

"Thanks," she says, quietly.

Scrabbling around on all fours under the desk, I manage to get one of the plugs in but, just as she said, the other socket's old and busted. "You weren't kidding," I say, fiddling with it to no avail. "This thing's shonky as hell." A bloody danger, too.

My chest tightens for a moment, thinking of her mum, trying to do her best for her daughter in this worn-out old flat. I turn to look at Kayla over my shoulder, forgetting where that will place her in relation to my viewpoint, and accidentally achieve a strategic angle of view that, I swear, I had not even considered, let alone calculated, its implications not even crossing my mind until right here, right now, when it's too fucking late.

I'm looking up her skirt.

She's sitting barely three feet away. Her legs aren't crossed. She's got her knees apart now, white pleated material drooping down just a little into the gap between her upper thighs. Maybe just enough to protect her modesty if I'd been standing up. But from this angle? Entirely inadequate.

I can see where those stripey socks finish, I can cherish how they squeeze soft skin up into little bulges at their tops, even as my eyes are drawn further, inexorably -- inevitably -- past the crinkled undersides of her bare upper legs pressing down on the duvet, onwards to my gaze's final destination. A clearly visible triangle of material. Black, again, like her bra, with pink decorations. Lacy pink decorations. Nothing at all like the plain white panties I once inadvertently caught sight of at school, walking behind her between buildings, when the wind had done its thing.

Holy fuck.

My eyes flick up, but it's too late. She's looking right at me. She's seen me. She must have. She's going to cross her legs in three, two, one...

But she doesn't. She just smiles back. "Do you need help?"

Yes, I fucking do. I need help to stop being such a dirty old man. But I can't help it. My eyes flick back. She's not crossing her legs. If anything, her knees are a touch further apart. Realisation crashes into my head. Of course they are. Because she fucking trusts me, she wouldn't in a million years think I'd be perving up her skirt, so it hasn't even entered her head to take... evasive action.

Another deep breath. I look back up, fake a determined expression. "I'm a man, Kayla. I can do this, alone. I must. For King and country."

She laughs. "Alright, then."

I shuffle back round, ready to have another go, except this time I manage to crack my head on the underside of the desk. "Ow!"

"What the hell?" She's laughing properly, now. "Are you alright?"

No, my entire brain is still filled with a view of your black and pink lacy pants and is trying to extrapolate from that view about a billion other imaginations of you in nothing but your underwear. Fortunately, that one doesn't come out loud.

"Yeah, fine," I say, rubbing my head. "Just forgot where I was. Getting old." I'm back on all fours, arse in the air, hoping my jeans haven't slipped down to give her a builders-bum display. Still, that's the least of my worries, right now.

She saw me. Looking up her skirt. Didn't seem to care. Now I can't get that sight out of my head, and my cock's hardening in my pants. Fucking hell. This is so wrong. If she realises what's going through my mind, it will ruin what she thinks of me. Forever.

I take a few deep breaths, manage to will the burgeoning erection away, and focus all my efforts on trying to get that sodding plug in the socket. Finally, it snicks in with a click.

"Ha. Victory is mine." Except it's a hollow victory. Because now, my work here is done, which means I don't have any good reason to stay. I crawl out backwards from the desk, haul myself upright and manage to fire up the PC without any further injury. I smile over at Kayla, brushing down my t-shirt. At least that's what I do until I realise I'm standing in a position where I can fully see down her top. Enough to note the bra's got pink lacy bits as well. A matching set.

Fortunately, Kayla's looking at the computer screen. "Yay, it works. Thank you."

Shifting position, I tear my gaze away from her chest. "No excuse for not doing your homework at uni, now."

She sniffs. "Don't spoil it."

I've perched my arse against the edge of the desk for a bit of support, but I'm still shaking. I fold my arms to disguise the shakes. Try to look cool and relaxed. Fail. I'm attempting to think of some way of extending the conversation, of stretching my time with her, but I'm failing at that, too. The silence stretches to awkward, again.

"Uh, I guess this is it, then." I force a smile, despite the weird sense of emptiness opening up in my chest. "Our final goodbye."

"I guess." She looks down. Sad? Disappointed? No, just relieved, probably. She's pulling at her fingers again, like she's still nervous.

I sigh. Maybe she'll relax when I'm out of here. Maybe I will, too. "Will you keep in touch? Drop me an email or something to let me know how you're getting on? Maybe... pop back into school now and again?"

"Sure," she says. Listless. Like she's not even paying attention. Can't blame her, really. I'm sure she just wants me gone.

Our time together is circling inevitably to an end, and I'm trying to crush down disappointment I shouldn't be feeling. "I'd like that. It always means a lot to hear from past students."

She doesn't respond at all, this time. Like she didn't even hear me. I guess that's as clear a signal to go as I could ever need, so I roll up the carrier bag I'd brought the cables in, shove it into my jeans pocket, and push myself up off the desk, forcing down that emptiness and looking right at her, trying to burn a final image in my mind for future reference. She's just staring at the floor.

"Right, well, um... good luck at uni anyway. Hope the computer's useful. I can see myself out."

She sighs, finally stops twisting her fingers, then looks up at me with an expression on her face I don't think I've seen before. A determined look, like she's come to a decision.

"Do you have to go, like, right now?" She holds my gaze for a fraction of a second before looking down again, flushing red. "I mean, do you need to, I don't know, be somewhere else or anything? Because if you don't then--" As she's speaking, she's tugging at the hem of her skirt, a repetitive motion, pulling it down, flipping it over, pulling it down. "--maybe you could... stay? For a bit longer, I mean. Obviously, only if you want to..." Her voice tails off and she glances up at me, just for a second before looking down again.

Holy fuck.

Do I want to stay? It's just an innocent question. A billion innocent reasons for asking it, too. But now the tension in the room's exploded again, strong enough to eclipse any of those earlier awkward moments. A massive fucking thundercloud of potential disaster that's almost enough to pop my ears. My brain's already rationalising it away. She just wants to chat a bit longer. Just teenage nerves at leaving home, the prospect of heading off to uni. Just wants a bit of company, to hold on to those school days a bit longer, the comfort of a familiar face...

But now I've got an inner demon whispering in my head. Well, maybe not a demon. Maybe just me. What if she wants... what I, now, apparently want?

I'm frozen, heart pounding, her flowery scent drifting across to me as a million scenarios play out in my head at warp speed, every one of them ending in catastrophe. Forget the electric socket, this is real fucking danger. She's planted a seed -- no, fuck, that's not fair, it's not her, it's me, I've planted a seed -- and it's already rooting, taking hold. It's a bad seed, and it's growing fast. It's going to make me do something stupid. Something wrong.

"Uh..." The tension's ramped up so high I can almost feel electricity crackling between us. Time's slowed to a crawl. I need to say something, fast, to pop the impossible bubble of pressure. When I summon the courage to look, she's not looking down anymore, she's looking back at me, furiously twirling at her hair, skirt now safely pushed down beneath her legs, thank god. Her face is... I don't even know. Expectant? Fearful? Yeah, that's more like it. She's scared shitless her teacher's about to say something cringingly awful. Which he is.

No. I can't. I mustn't.

Finally, I find my voice. "I... I don't know if that's a good idea."

Her face changes, and I see something in her expression that makes my heart thump even harder. I swear I'm not imagining it. I know I'm not. There's disappointment in her eyes.

She nods, hair falling forward with the motion. Looks down at her lap, fiddling with the hem of that skirt again. Folding it up then down, up then down. Each time giving a glimpse of another couple of inches of those delightfully creamy thighs, yet wonderfully, innocently oblivious to that fact.

"Okay," she says. "I understand."

My heart's in my throat. I can barely breathe. But that bad seed's powering me on, beyond sense. It's branching out in my chest, tendrils burning through me, conjuring more scenarios. So many fucking possibilities. I've just said the right thing, given myself the out I needed. But I'm still fucking standing here. Still driven by that aching need to know. I have to fucking know.

I take a deep breath. The bad seed's feeding me the words now. At least, that's what I'm letting myself think. It surely can't really be me. It can't be.

"I'm sorry. I mean, I could stay, I'd like to stay. I actually, really want to, it's just..." I sigh. "I shouldn't."

Her expression changes, like hope's just returned, and she gives me that little smile, the one she's been giving me for the last two years, the one that brings a lump to my throat because it's always seemed so fucking guileless and genuine.

"Why not?" she says.

Why not, indeed. She's still looking at me, still smiling. Maybe something different in her eyes this time. Not coquettish. Not knowing. Nothing like that. But maybe, just maybe, not entirely guileless.

Fuck. It doesn't matter. I can't do this. I mustn't do this. I take a step, start to turn for the door, chewing my lip like I'm her age again. If I walk away now, this ridiculousness is over. Finished. We can go our separate ways and nobody'll ever need to know how close I came to disaster. But I've stopped moving. Stopped turning. Already, my traitorous mouth is open again, forming the words that could cost me everything.

"Because..." I stop, again. The line isn't crossed. Not yet. I could still quit without serious consequence. Sure, I've been foolish, going into a student's house on my own -- into her bedroom -- making unwise comments about her appearance, letting myself get drawn into a risky situation... I've been stupid, for sure. But nothing that would warrant more than a warning from the head. Some professional advice. A mild slap on the wrist.

Unlike what I'm going to say next.

"Because if I stay, Kayla, I might just have to kiss you," I blurt.

I picture the sound waves in slow motion, spreading from my larynx, out through my mouth, seeping through air that, once again, is so thick with tension I can barely breathe.

Her smile disappears, eyes widening. The magnitude of those words hangs in the air for one second. Two. Three. My gut sinks, the knowledge of my moronic miscalculation, driven by my stupid, delusional imagination, threatening to drag me to the floor. I close my eyes, waiting for the world to end.

"Well... that would be okay with me," she says quietly. Barely more than a whisper. When I open my eyes, she's looking down again. Not meeting my eye. Like she's as embarrassed as I am.

What. The. Fuck. My mouth's hanging open.

I lean against the desk again before I collapse. I'm covering my face, the enormity of what I've just done suddenly overwhelming. "Oh God, Kayla, I'm so sorry," I groan through my hands. "This is so wrong. I don't know what I was thinking, I shouldn't have said that. I'm your teacher--"

"No, you're not," she interrupts.

I frown, peering through my fingers at her. There's a confidence to her voice this time. Like those times when she used to respond to a question in class, knowing she had the right answer.

"I've left, Mr Wilde. I've finished school. It's official, they sent mum the letter, you know, the one wishing us all well and confirming our leaving date was June 30th. It's August now. You're not my teacher. You haven't been for, like, seven weeks or something. Now you're just..." She bites a nail. "Someone I really like."

I'm not sure how much longer my legs will support me. I leave the desk and sit down hard on the edge of her bed, beside her, but at a safe distance.

I'm still sweating. I rub my hands on my face, sigh. "That... that doesn't make it okay, Kayla."

"Uh, it kind of does," she says. Confident, again. "I'm eighteen. I've been an adult for five months. If you wanted to... kiss me, it's not against the law or anything. I looked it up."

She looked it up. What the hell? My heart's hammering so hard I might just have a coronary. All those little looks, the smiles, the shy laughs at my terrible jokes. Maybe it wasn't just her being nice. Being friendly. Maybe she's had a fucking crush on me all along.

I force myself to breathe again. Exactly. That's all it is. Just a silly teenage crush. The sort of scenario they give you in the safeguarding training, the shit I always figured was irrelevant to me. Like anyone'd have a crush on me, right? The words of the trainer come back. I'm the responsible one here. It's still not too late to do the right thing. I can close this down. I have to close this down.

I just don't fucking want to.

I'm shaking my head, staring at my trainers, at the worn pink carpet, anything but turning to face her right now. "I'm an old man, Kayla. Fuck, I'm probably older than your mum."

She laughs, a light tinkle that sends shivers through me. So fucking cute. I'm so fucking wrong.

I summon the courage to look over at her. "What's funny?"

There's a sparkle in her eyes. "I've never heard you swear before."

I shake my head, wipe a hand over my face again. "That's because you don't even know me as me, you only know me as Mr Wilde, your teacher. This isn't right."

"But," she says, biting her lip, doing the shy thing again. It's not an act, and at this moment I find it almost unbearably arousing. "You do like me, don't you?"